


Do Anartists Dream Of Memetic Sheep?

by JurassicAsh



Category: SCP Foundation, The Cool War
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Fire, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Smoking, idk man just read the angst and cry or some shit, pre-canon(?)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-26 16:07:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13239273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JurassicAsh/pseuds/JurassicAsh
Summary: When Joey Tamlin's beloved sister dies in a sequence of unexpected events, Overgang is caught is the crossfire. Unable to console his best friend, he faces the guilt of not doing anything soon enough that fateful night.





	Do Anartists Dream Of Memetic Sheep?

It was raining when it happened.

When Overgang Dood was met with his reflection in the glare of his computer. A young girl started screaming, matching the crack of thunder in shrill discordant harmony.

It was raining when he sprinted downstairs, socks barely brushing every 3rd or 4th step. Navigating the dark by sheer memory alone.

It was raining when Overgang opened the garage door, lifting his arm to shield his eyes. The angry sizzling of firework fuses and already charred boxes lit up the room. Flinching, Overgang ducked behind the door as the second set of explosions destroyed what was left of Jessie’s pet project. He didn’t hear anyone this time.  

It was raining when he tiptoed through remnants of still flaming explosives towards the overpowering smell of burnt hair. Leaning down, he felt his chest tighten.

Jessie Tamlin, Joey’s sister.

The name fell on deaf ears and sandpaper dry tongue.

The body lay dead still on the ground, its pretty freckled face gnarled and blackened beyond reasonable recognition. It wasn’t her, it couldn’t be her.   

Overgang’s palm shakily came to a rest on Jessie’s chest. Her shirt clung to her sweltering flesh, melting into the fresh wounds. He felt the bitter taste of bile rise up in the back of his throat, Overgang lifted the neck of his shirt and covered his mouth. The smoke and flames billowed around him but he couldn’t look away, sweat dripped down his face and along the small of his neck but he couldn’t look away.

Another crunch of thunder ripped through the clouds, its cacophonous wail tearing Overgang out of his trance. He dashed past flaming art supplies and slid into the kitchen. The cool air hitting him like a brick wall as he jumped over the threshold. Panic-riddled fingers slipped over cracked glass, his phone was a heavy block of ice in his hands.

“911, where is your emergency?” The words echoed and rattled in his mind. A dull throbbing pain curled up behind his eyes, Overgang pushed up his defining shades and pinched the bridge of his nose. They clattered onto the floor, making him jump. He snapped back and remembered the woman on the other end of the call, who was becoming more frantic with every passing moment.

He spoke yet didn’t speak, hushed tones mingling with the rolling thunder, swept away and drowned in the rain. He kept repeating Joey’s address, a glass bottle among the raging waves.

“Fire department.” A gruff man on the other end chimed in, he must have eventually got it across. Another glass bottle sent across the treacherous waters, and another. Overgang could almost choke on the thick knot in his throat as he struggled to keep calm.

2 people in the house, 2 people. Soon to be three. His eyes darted between the floor, the garage, and the back door. They assured him they would arrive soon. Overgang checked the time and anxiously wondered who would show up first. The worse part of him hoped Joey wouldn’t come home tonight. Each stroke of the clock felt like a dagger between his ribs.

It was raining when the fire department arrived, almost 7 minutes later. He had moved onto the back patio at that point, swinging solemnly from a plastic swinging bench he had vague memories of helping build. Cold gutter water gushed over the edge of the roof, splashing down and soaking through Overgang’s pajama pants. He scooted further back.

A gloved hand firmly grabbed his shoulder, Overgang tensed and shrank away from it’s presence.

“Are you alright, sir?” The fireman shouted, rain pattered on the hard plastic of the helmet that obscured his identity. He stared blankly at the fireman, hands still curled tightly around his phone. It was a simple question, really. His wide-eyed, deafening silence seemed to be enough of an answer for the fireman. Who slowly got him off the bench and ushered him across the yard. A flashing array of red and blue lights painted the whole area, brittle pieces of shrapnel littered the grass, highlighted by the ambulance lights.

It was raining when ambulance technicians examined him, slowly prying his arms from around his shaking form and taking his vitals. They asked if he was hurt, the words were a blur, like the lights or the smell of the smoldering garage. They were all obscured by the overpowering rain. He nodded, roughly estimating if he was okay, unsure for himself. He stepped into the passenger side of the ambulance, shuddering at the slam of the back doors. He didn’t have to look back to know Jessie was with them, whether it was a subconscious feeling or the faint smell of death being upon them, he knew. He wrapped his arms around his torso, ducking under the seat belt, and listened to the hard splat of rain on glass all the way to the hospital.

Overgang sat in the waiting room, his hair plastered to his face. His soaked clothes clung to him, making the hospital chillier than it should be. The water slowly soaked through the seat, making it soggy and uncomfortable.

He looked up, there was a payphone on the wall. He reached into the pockets of his pajama pants, coming up with nothing. He turned to the woman sitting next to him, she was clutching a blanket in her frazzled hands, he tried not to think about who she was waiting on.

“Could you spare a quarter?” He croaked. She turned to Overgang, he pulled his most desperate look, which wasn’t very difficult. The woman slowly picked up her purse. She gave him three quarters, clutching Overgang’s hand. There was an unspoken thanks, and a wish of good luck.

It was raining when he used is first quarter, curling the cord around his shaking fingers.

“Mel?” He whispered, she chastised him for calling so late at night, and using that nickname. “I’m in the hospital right now, and other people are listening.” He took a slow breath, building himself up. “It’s bad, Mel. I need you right now.” Overgang spoke over her yelling, her demands for answers and desperate cries of assurance. His eyes wandered, some of the closer clients stared at him. He repeated the address for her, he could hear her struggling to put on her coat and hold the phone to her ear.

“See you soon, you too, thanks.” He hung up, the walk to sit down felt like a mile.

It was raining when Arsehole speed-walked through the hospital doors, they locked eyes as she made a beeline for the seat next to him. The first thing she did was hug him tightly, grabbing the back of his shirt and not letting go. She sat down, slumped over next to him.

“So, give me the deets.” She muttered, getting to the point before Overgang could. He hesitantly spoke out, the hard lump in his throat gathering again, chained to his voice like a cinderblock to a drowning man’s ankle. He struggled to keep afloat as he described the more morbid details. Arsehole stopped him, having heard enough.

She pursed her lips, placing a clenched fist over her mouth. Her eyes were clouded, a mix of grief and something that Overgang couldn’t quite understand, no matter how hard he tried to decipher it.

“Have you called Joey?” Arsehole whispered, clenched fist pressing into her lips again. He shook his head.

“I was scared, I _am_ scared.” Overgang’s words were barely audible, Arsehole closed her eyes, exhaling slowly. He watched with growing horror as rage built up inside her.

“Oh for fu-” She started, words fizzling into dust on her tongue. She looked on, more worry than disappointment creasing her face. She looked much older, more scared than Overgang had ever seen her. He worried what he looked like to Arsehole.

It was raining when Overgang gave Arsehole the last two quarters, and helplessly watched on as she made the call herself, explaining everything. They both waited for the glass ball to drop.

It was raining when Joey Tamlin lost his cool.


End file.
